


Or Get Off The Pot

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Ass to Mouth, Blood, Clothed Sex, Cum Eating, F/M, First Aid, Forced Eye Contact, Frotting, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masochism, Mobster AU, Mutual Masturbation, No Lube, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Punching, Rimming, Sacrilege, blowjob, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-19 21:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15518661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Night Bergara, Legs Madej - the two nastiest mobsters this side of anywhere. Something is brewing, but neither of them wants to say anything, what with one thing and another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fringewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringewrites/gifts).



> Inspired by a whole conversation I had with my darling fashnik. 
> 
> * * * 
> 
> I fudged with some timeline stuff - gay pulp novels didn't really get "mainstream" until the sixties, but I figured y'all wouldn't mind too much.

“That guy is looking at me funny.”

“Yeah, because you’re funny looking.”

Shane “Legs” Madej gave his buddy and partner in crime a Look.

Ryan “Night Night” Bergara (which was still the dumbest fucking name this side of anywhere) gave him one back, and then did his shot of bourbon, throwing his head back.

It burned down the back of his throat. 

“I’m not that funny looking,” Legs said, and he rested his elbows on the counter.

“You’re pretty funny looking,” said Bergara. “With the size of that head.”

It was an old conversation - it was practically ingrained on their souls, as they back and forthed. 

When you have the same insults enough times, it can turn into something like a love song, although Bergara would have punched anyone who said anything even slightly insulting to Legs.

… not that he’d ever admit it. 

He always found some other reason.

He didn’t think about it too hard, because there are some things you don’t think about. 

And then there’s a guy looking at the both of them funny.

Bergara, he’s… he was antsy, shifting from foot to foot, cracking his knuckles.

His brass knuckles were heavy in his pocket, and the bourbon was singing through his veins. 

“If you get into another fight, I’m not gonna pull you out,” said Legs. 

Bergara ignored him. 

“I won’t stitch you up either,” Legs said, and then he was taking a shot of bourbon, and he was leaning forward, his elbows on the bar. 

“Mhm,” said Night Night, and then he was getting another shot, throwing it back, and making his way towards the biggest looking guy. 

He resembled nothing so much as a gorilla in a badly made suit. 

* * *

“You said you wouldn’t rescue me,” Bergara said, twenty minutes later, sitting on Legs’ hotel bed. 

“I lied,” said Legs, and he was frowning, squinting at Night Night’s face.

He was also… stitching up Bergara’s face, because that one guy had been wearing a signet ring or… something.

There was a pretty impressive gash down one cheek.

Maybe it would make a sexy scar. 

Ladies loved scars.

… he didn’t care about that, if he was honest. 

Well, no, tell a lie, he liked a dame as much as the next man, provided the next man liked to get his carrot waxed every other week or so. 

The local ladies of the night were good for the company, and they’d probably fuss over the scar.

He grinned, and Madej frowned. 

“Keep your face still, or I’ll fuck up the stitches,” said Madej, and he gave a particularly sharp yank at the stitch right under Bergara’s cheekbone.

“You just want me to look ugly so you can sweep up all the ladies.”

“I don’t need any ladies,” said Legs. “I’ve got my own lady.”

And then Bergara was frowning, and he hated himself for it, because Sara was a good woman, and they made each other happy.

And yet.

Some small, dark part of him snarled out at the two of them - at their happiness - and he didn’t know who. 

He sighed, and Legs made another frustrated noise.

“Do you want me to give you a fuckin’ Glasgow Grin, or will you stay still?”

Legs yanked on the thread, and Night winced. 

“As if my natural smile could get any more engaging,” said Night Night.

The shit just fell out of his mouth as soon as it dropped into his brain.

Legs rolled his eyes. 

“Some day, I won’t be around to patch you up, you know that, right?”

“I guess I’d best enjoy you while you’re here,” said Night, and maybe there was a flourish in the way he said it, because Legs paused, and he looked into Night’s eyes.

In the yellow light of the crummy hotel room (was the Boss ever going to spring for a _decent_ hotel?), Legs’ eyes were almost… searching. 

There was a stark shadow, highlighting the bright spots of his craggy face. 

Fuck, but Legs had a beautiful face. 

Not, like… beautiful, beautiful, but… some kind of something.

Sometimes, when the two of them were staking out someplace, or getting a beer, or preparing a hit - any time the two of them were sitting shoulder to shoulder, or face to face, really - he’d notice the play of light, the shadows cast by Legs’ eyelashes, or the elegant curve of his profile, and something in his chest would go tight and painful, in a way that he couldn’t explain. 

Sometimes Bergara thought about kissing Madej, sometimes slugging Madej, but it was all… mixing up in his head, and maybe it was the booze, and maybe it was the fight still thundering in his blood, but he was… he was leaning in closer.

Madej pulled the thread, tied it off, snipped it, and then he was putting his kit to the side, and he was… he was leaning close again, close enough that Night could smell his breath. 

It smelled like bourbon. 

They were breathing each other’s breath, forehead to forehead. 

The world was going to turn on the head of a pin, and Bergara’s heart was beating very, very loud. 

“You gonna do something, Night?” 

Legs’ voice was very quiet. 

Bergara almost didn’t hear it. 

“What kind of something?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Legs. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“You gonna leave it to me to figure it out?”

“Well, you complain when I say that I’m the brains of the outfit,” Legs said. “Maybe I’ll give you a chance to figure some shit out yourself.”

“Legs, I swear to fucking god, you keep this up, I’ll -”

“You’ll what?” 

Night shoved Madej.

He wasn’t thinking clearly - he just… he put his hands on Legs’ shoulders, and he pushed, and Legs just went down, and then Night was looking down at Legs, his own eyes wide.

He was shaking.

Legs looked cool as a cucumber, but of course he did. 

“You’re gonna tear your stitches if you keep that face,” said Legs. 

“I can’t have any other face. This is my only face.” 

“I dunno,” said Legs, and he was… what was happening with _his_ face? “Sometimes I wonder.”

“What, that I’ve got other faces hidden?”

“If you’ve ever shown me your real one,” said Legs. 

He looked completely comfortable, recumbent on the bed like something painted on an ancient vase. 

He looked prettier than any girl Night had ever seen, and there was… there was something like rage in the back of his head, but something else too, something… he didn’t know. 

“I’ll give you my real face,” said Night. “This is the realest face I’ve got.”

“Oh yeah?”

“What do you know from real, anyway?” 

“I know a surprising amount,” said Madej. “You gonna keep me here like a princess in the movies?” 

“What kinda movies are you watching, with princesses?”

“Sara likes ‘em, got me into ‘em.”

And there was Sara, rising up between them, but… she wasn’t here now.

Night put a hand on Madej’s stomach, and the buttons of the shirt were hard against his palm, and when he tugged on it, the button opened, and there was Madej’s undershirt, white and thin, and Madej’s skin was hot through it. 

Madej looked down at Night’s hand, looked up at Night’s face, and Night’s hand was only shaking a little, as he moved to the next button, and the next, until all of Madej’s skinny chest, covered in the thin, white undershirt was in the light. 

Night’s hand moved up, and then he had Madej’s nipple under his palm, and Madej’s heart racing under him.

Huh. 

Not so calm and collected after all. 

And then Night was… reaching up, and he was… he was cupping Legs’ face, the way he always wanted to, because it fit perfectly, and his thumb brushed across Legs’ cheekbone, and it was… tender, and something twisted in Night’s chest, but fuck if he was going to be afraid of anything, let alone Legs. 

He moved his hand back, and then his fingers were sliding through Legs’ hair, and it was smooth, a little greasy. 

They hadn’t had a chance for a proper bath for a few days. 

He tangled his fingers in it, and he tugged on it, just enough that Legs hissed through his teeth. 

“Night,” Legs said, and his voice was rough, then, “ _Ryan_.”

Night froze, and he was flushing.

Um. 

The rarely used their given names with each other. 

“Shane,” Night countered.

“Drop a deuce or get off of the pot,” Legs said, and his voice was rough, 

Night pulled Legs’ head back, fingers tangled in it, and he kept his eyes locked on Legs, as his other hand rested on Legs’ thigh. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The stitches were throbbing on Night’s face, and his cock was throbbing in his drawers, as his hand slid higher up, along Legs’ inseam.

The inseam was raised, almost ticklish against Night’s palm.

He licked his lips, and he looked at his own hand, right on the edge of Legs’ crotch, and then he looked back into Legs’ eyes. 

“It means whatever you think it means,” said Legs. 

He shifted, and then he was… moving his hands behind his head, his hand covering up Night’s, and oh god, there was some kind of something filling the air.

It was hard to breathe.

It was hard to _think_.

“Suppose I do… continue,” Night said, and his hand moved up a little farther, until the very tip of his index finger was almost touching the head of Legs’ cock. “What’ll happen next?”

“Do you go into every fight asking what’s gonna happen next?”

Legs had an eyebrow up, and it was doing interesting things to his face. 

Bergara raised his own eyebrow, and that yanked at the stitches, which was… uncomfortable. 

“Are you saying this is like a fight?”

“Like your blood doesn’t sing the same way,” Legs said. “I’ve seen what it does to you.”

“Why are you looking at _that_ , when I’ve got my fists up?”

They were dancing around it - dancing around everything - and it was enough to make Night grit his teeth. 

“You put ‘em up often enough, I get bored seeing the same thing. My gaze… wanders.”

And Legs was looking Night up and down, like some kind of predator.

Night moved his hand up.

He curled his hand around Legs’ cock, and he pressed the heel of his hand against the head, digging it in.

And he shuddered. 

“Oh,” said Legs, and his voice cracked. 

“What would you call this?”

“I wouldn’t,” said Legs, and he moved his hand down, to cover Night’s hand with his own, squeezing, and squeezing Legs’ cock through the pants. 

“No?”

“I’d ask you to take it out,” said Legs. 

“You would, or you are?”

“Are you really nitpicking my grammar, at a time like this?”

Legs’ expression was downright sardonic, as his other hand came down, and then he was unbuttoning his fly, shoving his drawers aside, and... there was Legs’ - there was _Shane’s_ cock. 

It was the first one that Night had been this close to.

Um. 

He looked at it, looked at Madej’s face, and then he just… wrapped his hand around it, because fucked if Night Night Bergara was going to back away from anything.

Especially when he’d embraced such a stupid fucking nickname. 

He kept his hand on Legs’ dick, and he began to stroke it, a little harder, squeezing.

It was… leaking, clear pre-cum dripping across Night’s fingers, and Legs had thrown his head back, his hips rolling forward. 

“When else am I gonna do it?” 

Night was letting his mouth run off, because what else was he going to do?

The silence - apart from the wet sounds, the flesh sounds - was just… too much. 

“I dunno. Enjoy the moment.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Night said, and he gave another squeeze, as Legs moaned. 

“Night,” Legs said, his voice sharp, “you’ve got a handful of my pecker. Maybe just -”

“You want me to take it off?”

Night stilled his wrist.

“I didn’t say that,” Legs said, and then he was sitting up, propped up on the headboard, his legs wide open, and he was… he was just taking it. 

He was just letting Night… wax his carrot.

Which was weird, but… god, Night didn’t want to stop.

Legs’ cock was solid under his hand, the skin silky and hot. 

The pre was making it that much easier, it practically _glided_ , and Legs’ thighs were beginning to tremble. 

“So what do you say?”

“I say… I say that you should keep at it. But maybe speed it up a bit.”

“I don’t want you to go off like a bottle of warm champagne,” said Night, and he slowed down even more, going from the root of Legs’ pecker to the tip, Legs’ foreskin sliding over the wet head. 

“Versus cold champagne?”

“Now who’s being a nitpicker?” 

“I feel like I could make some Descartes joke,” said Legs. 

He was smirking, the jerk. 

It was… it was _annoying_ , and it was the most Legs thing ever.

Night didn’t know if he wanted to slug Legs, or kiss him.

He settled on giving Legs’ cock an extra long squeeze, from tip to root, as Legs writhed under him. 

And it was full on writhing, like something out of a pulp novel, although Night had never read… _that_ kind. 

He barely ever saw them, but… well.

That wasn’t what he was going to concentrate on.

“You seem like you’re a million miles away,” said Legs, and then one long fingered hand was going up Night’s side, hot as a brand through the thin cotton of Night’s shirt. 

Night shuddered.

“Where would you rather I was?”

Night’s voice was very quiet. 

“Where I always want you,” Legs said, and for once, his tone was utterly sincere. “Right here.”

And he was cupping Night’s cheek, looking at Night with his eyes soft and limpid, and fuck, Night was thinking of words like “limpid,” which was… uncomfortable, but this was all uncomfortable, and there was some kind of deep, complicated emotion in the backs of his eyes, and Night’s heart was beating very hard in the back of his head. 

He turned away from Legs, breaking eye contact, and then the hand on his face was tightening, forcing him to meet Legs’ eyes, and okay, this was… intense.

“If you’re gonna touch my pecker, you’re gonna look me in the eye,” Legs said, and his voice was rough. 

Night flushed, but he kept eye contact, and then Madej’s hand was… fuck, Madej’s hand was at the front of _his_ pants, squeezing Night’s cock through the pants, and then he was… oh god, how was Legs unbuttoning his pants with one hand?!

And then… fuck, there was Legs’ hand, right in his pants, and he was, beginning to stroke it through the thin cotton drawers, and it was… oh god. 

God, it was… it was sweet, in a way that made Night’s stomach twist, and then there was shock, because their cocks were pressed together, and one of Legs’ long hands was wrapped around them, and Night was leaning in closer, until his hand was planted next to Legs’ head, and he was rutting into his own hand, into Legs’ hand.

They were practically nose to nose - just close enough to look each other in the face without going cross eyed - and their hands were moving in tandem, and it was just… what the fuck. 

What the fuck was going on, what the fuck did this mean, what… oh… fuck….

Night was shuddering, and the boner he’d had since he’d gotten into the fight was already starting to throb like the stitches in his face, like the bourbon burning down his throat, only this was burning up his back, was building and building in his gut, and he was shaking, he was... fuck, he was feeling something, but he couldn’t feel it, he _wouldn’t_ feel it, he would just… enjoy the pleasure, as he shook like a leaf.

“Do it,” said Legs, as he watched Night’s face, and then his fingers were concentrating to the delicate spot right under the head, and Night’s knees were going weak, he was straddling Legs’ thigh, and they were, god it was so wet, and they were close enough that they could kiss, he wanted to kiss Legs, he wanted… he wanted so many things.

He wanted to cum, and as soon as the thought entered his head, he _was_ cumming, right across Legs’ belly, Legs’ cock, keeping eye contact, and then he was watching Legs’ face, and Legs was… still rubbing their cocks together, and there was more cocks rubbing against each other, the slip and slide of his cum, and... oh, god, fuck.

The pleasure was making Night shake, making him soft and calm and sweet, and then he was panting, and he was watching Legs’ face, because Legs was cumming, and it was sticky and wet against Night’s own cock. 

“Fuck,” Legs said, his voice rough. “Holy fuck.”

Night wanted to collapse - wanted to lean in and kiss Legs, wanted to press so close together the only thing separating their souls would be skin.

But he flopped to the side, shaking, and then he was sitting up, going to the basin to wash up on shaking knees.

He collapsed on his own bed, still quiet, and he glanced over at Legs.

Legs was looking at him, wearing a thoughtful expression.

Night Night Bergara frowned.

“Nothing,” said Legs, and he yawned. “I’m gonna go to sleep. We have an early start.”

“Yeah,” said Night, and he unbuttoned his shirt, still lying down. “Night.”

“Night Night,” said Legs, and even in the awkward silence, Night could hear the smirk. 

Night rolled his eyes, rolled onto his side, his eyes shut. 

The quiet was loud enough to thunder in Night’s ears - he wanted to climb into the bed with Legs, to cuddle up, to smell Legs’ skin, feel it under his palms.

He opened his mouth to say something… and then he closed it. 

He closed his eyes, and he forced himself into sleep, the throbbing of the stitches in his face like a barrage of kisses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night pays a visit to Legs' girl.

Ryan “Night Night” Bergara sat at the Rubin-Madej kitchen table, and he cleaned his nails with a pocket knife.

Sara sat across from him, and she looked at him with her bright eyes. 

“So Legs isn’t here yet?”

“He won’t be back for a while,” said Sara. “He’s still off with his brother.”

“Special brother-brother time,” Ryan said, and he carefully maneuvered the very tip of the knife under his left thumb.

“Do you have to do that here?”

Sara looked annoyed. 

Night glanced up at her, and the light caught her glasses, leaving her eyes unreadable. 

“Apologies, madam,” he said, and he made a big show of closing his pocket knife, shoving it into a pocket of his suit pants. 

“I meant more, “why are you _here_ ,” in my kitchen, right now.” 

“Legs invited me,” Night said, and that was… pretty close to true. 

“Did he?”

Sara made a face.

“You like having me around, don’t ya?”

Night glanced at her sidelong, and he grinned in the way that always made the girls a little gooey.

She raised an eyebrow. 

He raised an eyebrow back at her, and her face split into a raucous grin. 

“That sounds like Shane,” she said, her tone fond, and then she was getting up, going to the fridge. “He tends to forget certain things. Like plans.”

“Well, thanks for letting me stay around,” said Night. 

“Eh, I like you, even though I know you’re a bad influence,” she said, and then she was leaning forward, and he was looking down the front of her dress, and... oh wow.

Yeah, he could see everything.

She was… she was very beautiful.

He could see why Legs was so endeared to her. 

Well… it was more than that.

It was a good deal more than that.

But some nasty, small part of Night’s mind wanted to think of it like that.

Wanted Legs to be drawn in by nice tits and a soft ass and a wet cunt, because that was stuff that _he_ didn’t have, and that was why this was the Madej-Rubin household, and not the Madej-Bergara household.

Although that wasn’t fair either, was it?

Because he _liked_ Sara. 

He liked her wit, he liked her sense of humor, he liked the way her nose wrinkled up when she laughed, he liked the way she shouted at Shane when he was being obnoxious…. 

He could’ve fallen in love with her, in another life. 

He might fall in love with her in this one, if he wasn’t careful.

This was… this was complicated, this was strange, but it was familiar, in its own way. 

He’d pined after girls.

He didn’t want to call what he felt for Legs pining, because… because that was a level of complicated he didn’t want to think too deeply into it, because… because they said things about that sort of person.

They _did_ things to that sort of person. 

And besides, it was all too… different. 

But this was familiar, except it wasn’t, because this was his best friend’s girl, and there were lines you didn’t cross.

Then again… she was his friend too, and he’d… well, Legs was her man. 

So it was just as much of a betrayal to her as it was to him, wasn’t it?

So it would only even it out, if he… if he did this. 

If he was going to be some kind of monster, might as well go whole hog. 

So he reached a hand out, and when she was holding a beer out to him, he rested his hand on her wrist. 

She looked down at his hand.

She looked up at his face.

He kept the eye contact.

“You know, I know,” she said. 

“Hm?”

She set the cold bottle of beer on the table, and she looked at Night, her expression almost… sad. 

“I know,” she said. 

“I don’t know what you know,” said Night. 

“I know the kind of looks that you give Shane,” said Sara, and she was looking at Night with her eyes behind her glasses, and then he was… he was standing up, he was in her space, chest to chest, looking into her face.

She stared at him. 

He stared at her. 

“Maybe I’m giving them to you,” he said, and they were breathing each other’s breath. 

“No,” said Sara, and her face was wearing a canny look. “No, you like me, but… not like that.”

“I like you plenty.” 

He cupped her cheek in his hand, and he pressed his thumb against her cheekbone.

It was… there was something in the air, something tense. 

“I’m your best friend’s girl,” she said, and her lips were ticklish against his own.

How had they gotten to this point so quickly?

He was doing something… something stupid, but then her hand was coming up to his face, and she was tracing the stitches across his cheek with the tips of her fingers, and those were the same stitches that Legs had sewn into his face. 

The stitches like love bites, after they’d gotten into the kind of bar brawl they put in the pulp novels. 

… he was reading too many pulp novels.

But now Sara - Legs’ girl, Night’s friend - was stroking them, almost tenderly, and that was… that was too much.

He put his hands on her hips, and he pulled her closer to him, like a couple on a movie poster, and then he was… leaning down, and he was kissing her.

And she was kissing him back.

Not only was she kissing him back, she was kissing him back _hard_ , with her teeth, her tongue. 

She kissed him like she hated him, like she loved him, like it was the end of the world, and then she was… shoving him down, into the chair he’d been sitting in, and she was straddling his lap.

She was strong - remarkably strong, the kind of strong he didn’t expect in someone her size, and she was just… straddling him, her forehead against his, panting. 

She was holding on to his tie. 

“He’ll never look at me like he looks at you,” she said, and her voice was quiet.

It sounded a little bit like her heart was breaking.

He grabbed her ass - it was as grabbable as he’d thought, under her dress, red and printed with little flowers.

The material went sweaty, bunching up under his fingers, and she was grinding against him, and he was grinding against her. 

Her drawers were right up against the front of his trousers, and she was draping her arms over his shoulders, still staring him in the face. 

“You’re his home,” Ryan said, and his voice was quiet. 

“Home is where you go to when you’re done doing what you want to do,” Sara countered. “It’s the end of the road.”

Her fingers were tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, and he was shivering as he held on to her - god, but that felt good, that felt a lot better than it had a right to.

It all felt better than it had a right to - if he was so head over heels for Legs, why was he having any kind of feelings for Sara?

But right now, she was here, and she was leaning in, and she was kissing around his ear, and he kept holding on to her, shaking.

“You’re sitting in his chair,” she said, and he groaned, a deep, hard groan, and he shoved his hand under her dress, grabbing a handful of her ass, squeezing it, indenting the soft, pale skin.

“You want me to get up?”

Her hands were going between them, pulling open his buttons, and they were sliding into his pants, his drawers, finding his pecker hard and hot and wanting. 

“I’m gonna fuck you in his seat, and you can pretend I’m him, if you want,” she said. 

There was something almost sad in her voice, 

“You’re missing certain things,” Night said, his voice dry. 

“I’ve got a dildo in my sock drawer, if that’s what you’re needing,” she said, and then he was taking her glasses off, putting them down onto the table. 

“I meant the miles of legs,” Night said shortly, because… the idea of fucking her, with a dildo bumping up against his gut was an odd sensation.

… what about using that same dildo on him?

Did she use it on Legs?

God, fuck, he was going to go home, frig himself silly thinking about this - about the way her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, about the way she looked down at him with an expression that was half pitying, half mad. 

But also… the idea of her fucking Legs, the idea of… fuck….

Night moaned, and he shoved down the neckline of her dress, pressing his face into her tits, and okay, he was going to leave her pink and scratched up, but who the fuck cared, if Legs hated him for it, he deserved it, didn’t he?

He deserved for them to hate him, and so he buried his face in the sweaty softness of her, biting with just enough force to make a dent, but not enough to mark, and she shuddered against him, a long, drawn out shudder.

“I can’t really do much for that,” she said. 

“I don’t want you to be him,” he said, and he mostly meant it. 

“I think sometimes he wishes that I was you,” she countered, and then she was… planting her feet on the ground, still in his lap, doing something below her skirt, and she was… she was sliding down onto his cock, oh god, and she was wet and hot and silky, squeezing around him, and her forehead was against his, and they were nose to nose, locked in one of the oldest intimacies known to human beings. 

“You can give him stuff I can’t,” Night said, and he was being… he was being a lot more sincere than he’d usually be, but _god_ , she was doing _something_ with her cunt, something that was making his eyes roll back in his head. 

“Well, so can you,” said Sara, and she had her arms draped over his shoulders, and her fingernails were digging into the back of his neck, hard enough that it stung, and he reached between them, finding that one spot that made a girl’s pussy jump. 

Hers did, faithfully, and she dug her nails in, her hips rolling. 

“He can’t take me to church,” Night said, and there was a venom in his voice. “He can’t hold my hand. He can’t kiss me like he kisses you.”

“Why not?”

Her voice was a tickle in his ear, her breasts warm and soft against his chest, as he kept rubbing, his cock pulsing inside of her. 

“You know it doesn’t work like that.”

Why was she talking about this, anyway?

Why were they _doing_ this?

He was going to hate himself, he was going to regret all of this - it was more dangerous than any bar fight, more reckless than running into a brawl with only his fists.

His cock was already beginning to pulse inside of her - how long did Legs - did _Shane_ \- last when they did this?

What if he had Legs in his lap, instead?

But no, that wasn’t fair to Sara - he’d already been unfair to her, with Legs, and if he owed her anything, he owed her the honesty of being here. 

So he looked up into her face, and he kept his eyes on hers as his thumb rotated, as his own pecker slid in and out of her, right against his fingers. 

“It can work any way we want it to,” she told him, and she was getting tighter around him, much tighter, tight enough it almost hurt, and he was shaking, she was shaking, and they were both sweating, and she was kissing along his stitches, her lips were Legs’ finger had been. 

“You know we can’t,” Night said, and his voice broke. 

She kept her eyes on him, didn’t break it, and then she was sobbing, her whole body going tight around him as she came, her cunt pulsing like a heartbeat around him, and he felt a deeper sting on the back of his neck, as her fingernails cut into him, as he kept fucking up into her, as he began to shake and pant, as his cock twitched, beginning to swell. 

“He’s always going to love you,” she said, and she stroked his cheek, gently, and there was blood on her fingertips. 

“He loves you,” Night corrected, but… god, she was doing… something, he didn’t know what it was, but it was practically wringing him out, and then he broke eye contact, and he was shaking.

Her fingers slid into his mouth, and he sucked on them, tasting the copper of his own blood, and she was… sliding them in and out of his mouth, like she was fucking it. 

“That’s how he fucks me,” she said, her voice casual, “that same pace, like that.”

And Ryan let loose.

He came inside of her, a knee trembling orgasm that shot through him, braining him like a bottle to the temple, and he was left wrung out and trembling as his cock twitched inside of her, shooting wad after wad of cum, until he was completely drained, shaking, still holding on to her hips, absently tracing the tips of her fingers with his tongue.

She grinned at him, a wicked grin, and then they both froze, because there were headlights in the kitchen window, and then she was off of him (god, the cold air was unpleasant on his wet pecker), and he was shoving his cock back into his pants, buttoning up. 

By the time the front lock had clicked, Sara was presentable as you please, apart from a pinkness of her cheeks, which could be excused by the heat.

Night had the beer bottle against the back of his neck, ostensibly to cool off, actually to hide the bleeding.

“Fancy seeing you here, Night,” said Legs, and he came sauntering in like a tomcat. “Although you’re in my seat.”

“It don’t count as your seat when you’re not sitting in it,” Night said, but he stood up, his legs still trembling just a bit (Legs wouldn’t notice, hopefully) and moving to a different seat.

Legs settled in, leaning back, his expression content. 

“Thanks for keepin’ it warm for me,” he told Night. 

Night Night Bergara looked at his best friend, sitting in the seat where he’d just fucked Sara, and then he looked at Sara, his best friend’s girl, who was leaning against the sink, a dish towel over one shoulder.

He smiled at Legs, and the stitches on his face were pulled taut.

“Any time,” he told Legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo boy is this an angsty bit. Hope y'all enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

"Why are we here?"

Night Night Bergara held his drink in a tight enough grip that his knuckles were turning white, and he was glaring at the world at large, but especially at Legs. 

"Because I'm tired of going to that one shitty dive by your apartment, and this place is less shitty."

"There aren't any _women_ here," groused Night. 

He was grinding his teeth, and his shoulders were up around his ears.

He'd been on edge ever since he'd fucked Sara - he kept expecting Legs to take a swing at him, or to say something about... well.

Legs had to know. 

He _had_ to know.

Night had left pink abrasions across Sara's tits from his own stubble, and the back of his neck still looked like it'd been savaged by a tiger.

Legs was an astute guy.

He'd notice that.

... right?

He licked his lips, and he shoved his hand in his pocket, shifting from foot to foot. 

The stitches on Night's face were almost completely healed - he was going to have a curved scar across one cheek.

Maybe it would make him look dashing.

Legs was looking at him, his expression thoughtful. 

"Do you need women to keep you entertained now?"

Legs raised an eyebrow. 

"Are you implying something?"

Night took a swig of his beer, and then he put the bottle down, making a face. 

"I dunno," said Legs, and he was leaning against the bar, as indolent as a big cat, his glass curled in his hand.

He was getting appreciative looks from some of the fellas around the guy, and it was... it was irking Night.

It was irking him more than he wanted to think about.

"How can you not know, when you're the one who said it?"

"I don't read into what other people say the way you do," said Legs, and his tone was mild.

Night glared at him, and he was frowning hard enough to be pulling at the stitches in his face.

"What's gotten into you, Night? You've had a bug up your ass since Saturday."

_I fucked your girl in your seat, and you don't know it. I fucked you - sort of - and she doesn't know. I'm the worst kind of scum of the earth._

"I'm just not sure why you'd bring me to a bar full of... these kinds of people," Night said, making a vague gesture at their fellow patrons. 

All of whom were men. 

"C'mon, man, it's the modern era," said Legs. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not... afraid," Night said, and his voice was going lower, into almost a whisper.

Legs was leaning in, and Night's mouth was against Legs' ear. 

"You sure look afraid," said Legs. "Are you afraid I'll get swept off my feet by some particularly dapper gentleman?"

There was, indeed, a rather dapper looking gentleman eyeing up Night.

He was wearing a bowtie, and his suspenders were bright red. 

"I think he's a cop," Night said. 

"Nah," said Leg. "He's a fireman."

"How can you tell?"

"Suspenders," said Leg. 

He gave the dapper man a long, low grin, and the guy grinned back, and began to approach the two of them, shouldering through the crowded bar.

Night pressed closer to Legs, until they were hip to hip, and the warmth of Legs' body was like a firebrand against Night's own. 

He ordered another beer, and he stared down the supposed fireman.

The fireman wilted, just a bit, and then turned around, walking back into the crowd.

Legs gave Night a look that could best be interpreted as "pissed," in the anger sense. 

He wasn't close enough to drunk for any other kind, really. 

"Was that really necessary?"

"Dunno what you're talking about," Night said, and he took a swig of his beer.

"You've got some nerve, trying to keep me from having any fun," said Legs. 

"What kind of fun are you talkin' about?"

And Legs didn't say anything, just... reached out, and he put a hand on the back of Night's neck, his thumb resting on the healing scabs from Sara's nails.

Night... froze.

Full on froze, like a statue, and Legs kept the eye contact as he dug his thumbnail in, which... ow.

One of the scabs gave way, and there was a little trickle of blood down the back of Night's neck once again. 

There was some kind of... something happening in the back of Night's head - some kind of gibbering, eldritch terror, older than time, older than consciousness, and he couldn't think of anything to do, just... grabbed Legs' hand off of his neck, and he kissed the palm.

Legs kept eye contact, as Night kissed the tips of Legs' fingers, and then let Legs slide them in, heedless of their audience, heedless of the setting, heedless of anything but the salty taste of Legs' skin, mixed in with the iron-copper taste of his own blood. 

Legs wasn't doing anything, wasn't taking a swing at Night, wasn't threatening him with anything, wasn't trying to do any violence, was just... keeping eye contact.

Night's heart was beating very loudly in his ears. 

And then the barman put a glass down between them, startling them both out of the reverie, and Night took the drink, slugging it back and swallowing it.

The bourbon burned his throat, imbibed him with warmth, but... fuck it. 

He grabbed for Legs' hand, and he got it, without any complaint.

Then he was dragging Legs off, towards the back door. 

Both of them _always_ knew where the back door was. 

In their line of work... it was handy.

And then they were out in the alley.

The alley that smelled like garbage and piss and spilled booze, but it was blessedly dark, blessedly empty. 

Night... Night was taken with some kind of madness, some kind of... something, because he was up on his tiptoes, and he was kissing Legs - was kissing _Shane_ \- right there, in the dark alley, where nobody could see them.

He was kissing Legs the way he'd kissed Sara, but moreso - all that longing, that wanting, that desperation, surging through him, leaving him trembling, clinging, desperate.

Legs was going to beat him up, any second.

Break his nose, maybe worse.

Night had seen what Legs could do, when he set his mind to it. 

The man was an artist of efficiency with a broken bottle. 

… night would take it.

He’d let Legs carve him up like a fucking turkey, if that would make Legs happy.

That was a sobering thought.

But so was the fact that Legs was… was kissing back.

Legs’ big hand was on Night’s face, tracing the seams of the stitches, and his other hand was digging into the back of Night’s neck, reopening all of the little gauges from Sara’s nails, and then he was grabbing Night’s ass, grinding his hips forward.

“You knew,” Night whispered against Legs’ mouth.

“‘Course I knew,” said Legs, and he sounded close to amused. 

“Why didn’t you -”

“What, beat you up? Kill you? Dump you in the river?”

“Yeah. Any of those things.”

Huh.

Night was shaking. 

He was shaking, and he was clutching at Legs’ suit jacket, wrinkling it, sweating through it. 

Legs shrugged.

“You’re my best friend,” he told Night, with a level of sincerity that was especially disarming, considering the curtain of irony he usually kept around himself. 

“But… she’s your girl.”

“She’s her own person, too. If she’s gonna fuck any of my buddies, I’d rather it be you. She likes you.”

“How’d you… how’d you find out?”

“She’s done the same thing to me,” Legs said, his fingers digging into the back of Night’s neck, “and she told me.”

“ _She told you?!_ ”

That… wasn’t something that Night had expected.

This was a strange conversation to have, in an alley that smelled like piss, so close to Legs his hardon was probably leaving a wet spot in the other guy’s pants. 

“We tell each other shit,” said Legs. “I told her when you frigged me off. Figured it was a thing she should know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I figured you knew,” Legs said, as if that was… just a thing.

As if they were having a reasonable conversation. 

“But….”

“But?”

“That’s… that’s wrong,” said Night.

He pulled back, although he was loathe to do so.

Legs was big and warm, familiar. 

Night’s mouth was still throbbing from their kisses - he’d remember the burn of Legs’ stubble and the pressure of his lips for a long time. 

“We ain’t exactly doing what’s right,” said Legs, and his expression was downright sardonic, even in the dim light of the alley. “I figure, in the long term, the folks I’m sharing my bed with are less of a problem with whatever is right or wrong than… well, a lot of other stuff.”

Legs looked regretful. 

Night had made his peace to whatever hell he was going to go to a long time ago, and he was pressing himself against Legs again, because… because he had to.

Because how did he know Legs wasn’t going to beat him, wasn’t going to try to kill him for something, wasn’t lulling him into a false sense of security?

Night had seen Legs do that before - he played easy going, friendly, nice, and then he was just… there, with a knife, a gun, a broken bottle.

But he was sighing into Night’s mouth, and he was pulling Night closer, and they were kissing like it was the end of the world. 

Legs’ tongue was long and slick, Legs’ face was rough with stubble, Legs’ hands were circling Night’s hips, and then Night was pulling back, reaching between them to squeeze Legs’ cock. 

It was hard. 

It was hard, and it was as big as Night remembered, and... this still wasn’t right.

Night pulled back, panting, and he licked his lips. 

“You having a crisis of faith or somethin’?”

“Hit me.”

“... what?”

“In the face. Hit me.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause… I fucked your girl.”

“I mean, yeah, but my girl fucked you.”

“Still. Aren’t you mad at me?”

“I mean, yeah, but… I’m more mad that you thought that you were sneaking around on me. You wanna fuck Sara, you fuck Sara. As long as she wants to fuck you, I don’t see the problem.”

“What if I wanna fuck you?”

… and he’d said it.

Night had flat out said it, the thing he was afraid of, the thing he’d never even admit in his own head, but here he was, saying it. 

And Legs… Legs was just grinning.

The low light was catching his teeth. 

“I mean,” Legs drawled, “I might have picked up on that.”

Night flushed. 

“So that’s fine, too?”

“Yep,” Legs said, his tone mellow.

“You should hit me,” Night said. 

He was… he was gibbering, inside. 

He was practically screaming inside, as untethered as a zeppelin.

Was he going to crash into something, burst into flames?

… possibly.

Fuck. 

“Hit me,” Night said again, and then he was in Legs’ space.

“I can’t just….”

“Fucking… do it,” Night said. “Do it, and I’ll… I’ll suck you off.”

“Weren’t you going to do that anyway?”

Back to that sardonic tone, and it made Night want to bite Legs’ face off. 

There was rage, and wanting, and... something, all bubbling into the back of Night’s head, leaving him shaking, practically foaming at the mouth.

“Just fucking hit me, y’fucker!”

And then the pain bloomed across Night’s face. 

It was like a rock being thrown - one minute, he was standing there, the next he was curled over, a hand on his cheek, and Legs was shaking his own fist.

“I think I opened your stitches up again,” Legs said, and he sounded frustrated.

Night could taste his own blood, salty and metallic against his tongue.

And then Night was pressing into Legs, kissing him, fingers tangled in Legs’ hair, and he was getting his own blood on Legs’ face, he was getting on his knees (in the filthy, filthy alley) and he was… fuck, he was just pulling Legs’ pants open, wrapping his hand around Legs’ cock.

“You’re a sick fuck,” said Night, looking down at Legs’ hard cock in his fist, then up into Legs’ face.

“You’re the one who just asked me to hit you,” said Legs, one eyebrow up. 

“Yeah, but you’re the one who got stiff,” said Night.

He was jerking Legs off, carefully, long, slow strokes, and then he was just… taking it into his mouth.

Full on taking it into his mouth, sucking on it like an ice cream.

… he’d never had a pecker in his mouth before.

It tasted like salt, like skin.

There was something about it that reminded him of eating pussy, although he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

His blood was still sticky and hot against his cheek, and when he began to bob his head, Legs shuddered, his fingers in Night’s hair. 

“Fuck,” Legs said, and he was… going limp against the brick wall, which had to be equally unpleasant. 

He was holding on to Night’s hair, messing it up, and Night… Night leaned in, taking the cock deeper down his throat, trying to remember what his own blow jobs had been like.

Moving your head, doing stuff with your tongue, sucking… how hard could it be?

Some part of Night was still marveling over the fact that he was sucking an actual cock in an alleyway behind a bar.

This probably wasn’t the first cock that had been sucked back here. 

Far from the first.

Legs was moaning, and when Night looked up, he met Legs’ eyes.

He would have been embarrassed - he was, a little bit - but his own blood was dripping down his face, dripping down the back of his neck, and he was… swallowing around the cock in his mouth, taking it deeper down his throat, and he was making… frankly, they were pretty disgusting noises, and he gagged.

“Don’t try to choke yourself, jesus,” said Legs, and he was trying to pull Night off of his cock, but Night shook his head awkwardly, and began to… fuck his face onto Legs’ cock, and okay, he was gonna be sick if he wasn’t careful, but Legs’ knees were beginning to shake, and he was holding on tightly to Night’s hair.

Legs’ cock tasted salty, almost bitter, and it was mixed with Night’s own blood, and it would have been gross, but it wasn’t, it was… it was good, it was all good.

It was like any other intense situation, when he knew Legs had his back, only it wasn’t Legs having his back, it was him giving pleasure to Legs, and Legs was moaning louder, rough, hard noises, his hips beginning to jerk forward, his whole body on edge.

Night’s shirt would be stained with blood and spit, and then… Legs was pulling out, and he was cumming across Night’s face, Night’s mouth, and he was still shuddering.

“Fuck,” Legs said, and he… he was pulling Night up by the shirt collar, and he was kissing Night, deep kissing, getting his own cum on his face, as well as Night’s blood, Night’s spit.

Legs hand was going straight between Night’s legs, squeezing Night’s cock, and he was… sliding his hand into Night’s pants, jerking Night off, and Night was… god, Night was sagging against Legs, as the pain in his face throbbed in time with his cock.

“Do it,” Legs said, his voice rumbling through his chest, against Night, and Night was shuddering, rolling his hips, panting, mouth open.

“Fuck, Legs,” Night said, and it was almost - _almost_ \- a whine.

“Cum for me, c’mon,” said Legs. “Cum for me, Ryan.”

And then Night came.

He came in his pants, across Legs’ knuckles, into Legs’ palm, and then Legs was pulling his hand out, holding it out wordlessly for Night to do… what?

Night, not thinking, stuck his tongue out, and he licked his own cum out of Legs’ hand.

It was… it was sticky, bitter, salty, and it left a disgusting aftertaste in his mouth, but it was satisfying, in a weird way.

Then he was kissing Night, and that was… that was weird, but not necessarily in a bad way, and when he pulled back, he was smirking. 

“Let’s go back to your place,” he told Night. “I can sew your face up. Again.”

“Right,” Night said, dazed.

His pants were sticky and cold against him, and his face was throbbing. 

Yet somehow, he was walking on air.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some homophobia in this chapter, and also some kinda-sorta unsafe anal sex. Remember to use lube, folks!

“Say, Legs,” said Night Night, and he was sprawled across a chair like some kind of cat, legs over one arm, back against the other, “does your girl know you’re over at mine tonight?”

“Yep,” said Legs, and he was stretched out in the other chair, the appendages he took his name from extended out in front of him like a particularly grisly pair of stilts. 

“And she’s okay with it?”

Night was pushing.

He was always pushing, all the time, because that was what he did.

Because shit wasn’t going to be easy - it _couldn’t_ be easy, this shit was never easy.

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

Legs’ long fingers were wrapped around a beer bottle, which was sweating in the stuffy air of Night’s apartment. 

It was too fucking hot.

Night lived four stories up, and had every window open, but it wasn’t doing much good.

Sweat was pooling at Night’s waistband, under his arms, dripping down his face.

The both of them were down to shirtsleeves, ties and jackets long since discarded, bare feet pale and delicate. 

The air was as still as a boat becalmed at sea, full of tension, full of… something.

“Because… y’know….”

Night was avoiding eye contact, taking a swig of his own beer.

The radio was playing quietly in the background, something quiet and twangy, and it was like a little crank was being twisted at the base of Night’s spine, tightening some internal spring. 

It would get turned and turned up the spring broke, or maybe until Night flew into a million pieces, like a malfunctioning music box. 

Legs didn’t say anything, just glanced sidelong at Night, and the light caught his face, casting shadows across his craggy features. 

“No, Ryan, I don’t know,” Legs said, his voice level, and the use of Night’s real name made something complicated in his gut seize up. 

“Because… she knows that we’re fucking,” said Ryan. 

Not, strictly speaking, true.

They hadn’t fucked as far as he saw fucking.

… sort of.

It was all complicated.

Everything was fucking complicated with Legs, and it pissed Night off, sent him spinning, staggering like he was drunk, only it was inside, in his emotions, in his _everything_. 

Legs shrugged.

“She doesn’t care.”

“She doesn’t?”

“Well,” corrected Legs, “she cares, but… she’s not bothered.”

“Are you bothered?”

“I’m the one doing it,” said Legs, “why would I be bothered?”

“I dunno. Maybe you’re bothered by her letting me roger her.”

Legs groaned, and he covered his face with one hand, sinking down into the chair. 

“We’ve had this conversation,” said Legs. “I punched you in the nose. We agreed it was all good. So let’s let it be good.”

“But… doesn’t it _piss you off_?”

“No,” said Legs, and then he was staring at Night with a canny expression. “Does it piss _you_ off?”

“Does what piss me off?”

“That it doesn’t piss me off?”

And just like that, Legs was getting up, unfolding like a giant lawn chair, and he was putting his hands on either side of Night’s head, and they were almost nose to nose. 

“I think it bugs you,” said Legs, and his voice was low, rough.

It was making all the hair stand up on Night’s arms. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” said Night, and he avoided Legs’ eyes. 

And Legs’ fingers were under his chin, forcing eye contact, and he was staring straight into Legs’ face, without any chance of looking away. 

“I think you want me to be angry. I think you want to be hurt.” 

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” said Night. 

“You’re a wannabe fuckin’ martyr, aren’t you?” 

“What?”

“You want me to beat the shit outta you, don’t you?”

Legs’ fingers were tangled in Night’s hair, forcing Legs’ head back. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about, Legs,” said Night, and his eyes were everywhere but Legs’ face. “You been reading those weird sex mags the boss keeps scattered around the office?”

“We both know what I’m talking about, and don’t play stupid,” snapped Legs. “You’re not stupid.”

“Aw, buddy, that’s the sweetest shit you’ve ever said to me,” said Night, and he put a degree of simper into his voice, just to see Legs’ jaw clench.

“Are you trying to make me mad enough to hit you?”

Legs’ voice was… mild.

It was that same mild, inquiring tone he used for everything, and somehow _that_ was enough to make Night even angrier. 

“You’re imagining things,” said Night. “You sure you ain’t going senile in your old age?”

“For fuck sake, Night,” said Legs, and then he was… grabbing Night by the hair, and he was full on pulling Night off of the chair, hauling him onto the floor.

Night almost banged his knees on the coffee table, but then Legs was nudging it out of the way, and he was standing over Night, looking down at him.

“You’re just a freak that gets off on physical pain, ain’t ya?”

“Who you callin’ a freak?”

Night made to get up, but Legs’ hand stayed in his hair, and Legs’ arm was keeping him in place.

“I’m calling _you_ a freak.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Do you want me to?”

Fingers in his hair, knotted enough to pull on it, and the little stabs of pain were enough to make Night’s eyes roll back in his head, just for a moment. 

“You can’t ask for something like that,” Night said, scandalized.

“I’m not askin’ for it,” Legs said. “I’m asking you if you’re asking me.”

“That’s still asking,” said Night, and he was well aware that he was nitpicking, but a guy has to preserve _some_ of his dignity, right?” 

“You just hate yourself, don’t you?”

Legs’ voice was almost tender. 

“I don’t hate myself,” Night snapped;.

“So why do you keep trying to get me to beat you up?”

“I’m not trying to get you to beat me up,” said Night, and he smiled, the stitches on his face tugging uncomfortably. 

The scar was almost healed, and it was tight. 

“So I should just get up, go back to my girl?”

Legs fingers were beginning to untangle themselves from Night’s hair.

“I thought you said she was out,” said Night, and he grabbed at Legs’ hand, forcing it back into his scalp. “Don’t you want to hurt me?”

“Why do you want me to hurt you?”

“I hate you,” Night snapped.

“No, you don’t,” said Legs. 

Same fucking mild tone.

Fucker.

Night tried to stand up, tried to take a swing at Legs, but Legs just kicked him. 

Kicked him with a bare foot, right in the thigh, and that was still enough pain to make Night throw his head back and _scream_ , which would piss off his neighbors, but fuck it. 

The pain rolled over him like a wave, as Legs yanked him upright, and then he was being dragged to the bedroom.

“You’re a fucking piece of work,” Legs said, and he was pulling Night by the hair, by the shirt collar.

Night was struggling along, half crawling, half being dragged, and he was going to start crying if he wasn’t careful.

“I hate you, you fucking _cunt_ ,” groaned Night.

“Real creative,” said Legs, and he tossed Night onto the bed, awkwardly.

Night bounced, and the bedsprings creaked.

“Fuck you,” said Night.

Legs made a frustrated noise, and he grabbed the front of Night’s shirt, so that the two of them were almost nose to nose.

He was bent nearly double, and it would have been funny, in other circumstances.

Night was biting his lip to keep from cackling. 

And then the hand on his shirt was letting go, smoothing it out.

“I’m going home,” said Legs. “Sara might be out, but I can have a night in. Pull my horn, listen to the radio, read a book.”

He was turning around, as if he was out the door, and Night’s stomach dropped down into his stomach.

“No,” Night said.

“No what?”

Legs looked over his shoulder at Night, one eyebrow up.

“No, don’t go,” said Night.

“Why not? You called me a cunt. You said you hated me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Night, and he was… sliding off the bed, he was _crawling on the floor_ , oh god, what the fuck was wrong with him?

“What are you sorry for?”

“For saying I hate you. For calling you a cunt.”

“Why else?”

“Because… because you… because you make me feel shit,” said Night, and he was avoiding eye contact now, still on the bed. “Because when I look at you, I get… I get _mad_.”

“Why do you get mad?”

Legs was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking down at Night.

“Because you make me feel shit! I already said that!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me what that means,” said Legs. “For all I know, I just make you wanna puke.”

“I mean,” said Night, “you _also_ make me feel like that.”

Legs snorted.

“Tell me straight,” he said, and now his voice was flat. “I mean it.” 

“It’s… it’s not fair for me to… to just get you. To get you, to get Sara. It’s not right.”

Legs raises an eyebrow, keeps watching Night, and Night keeps talking. 

“We’re bad men, Legs. We can’t lie. We’re bad men.”

Legs nodded.

There wasn’t really any arguing about that - they weren’t good people.

They’d killed people, hurt people.

It was what they did. 

It was their job.

“We’re gonna go to Hell,” Night said quietly.

Another shrug.

“I can’t… it’s not fair. I can’t be happy. I can’t be happy, if I’m doing shit against nature. Against God.”

“So wait a minute. Us killing people is against nature?”

“No, no, it’s the… it’s the other shit.”

“What other shit?”

Legs’ voice was sharp.

“You. You and... you and me. You and... me and Sara, all of that. It’s… it’s wrong. If anyone found out -”

“What, that you’re fuckin’ me? That you’re fucking me, _and_ fucking Sara?”

“Right.”

Although technically he wasn’t exactly fucking Legs yet, but it wasn’t for lack of wanting. 

“So to be clear, the church or whoever or whatever is up there would be mad at you ‘n me fucking, or you and Sara fucking, but you and me killing people is fine and dandy?”

“That’s… different. People have been killing for ages.”

“People have been fucking for ages.”

“Yeah, but that’s still different.”

“Why?”

Ryan shrugged. 

“That’s not an answer.”

“It might not be an answer, but it’s my answer,” snapped Night. 

“And now you… what, wanna stop fucking me?”

“No!”

“So you… want me to make you feel guilty for fucking you? Want to _feel_ guilty for fucking me?”

“I don’t want to feel guilty for fucking you, I just… do.”

Legs snorted.

“I was right the first time,” said Legs, and he was crouching down in front of Night. 

Their height difference was enough that it looked kind of goofy. 

“What?”

“You’re a wannabe martyr,” said Legs. “You want me to nail you to a goddamn cross, don’t you?”

“God no,” said Night, although his cock was twitching. 

He didn’t want his cock to twitch at that idea.

That was downright sacreligious.

Um.

“So,” said Legs, “we’re gonna do this my way.”

And… up Night went again, flat on the bed, looking over the curve of his belly.

“We weren’t doing it your way to begin with?”

“No, I was trying to figure out whatever it was that was going through your head,” said Legs, and he was leaning forward, unbuttoning Night’s pants, then grabbing them, yanking them down.

Yanked them down, took Night’s drawers with them, and then Night was just… lying there, dick out, flat on his back.

If Legs wanted to, he could just… take him.

Just take him like a lady, right there and then. 

And Night’s cock twitched harder at that, at that idea.

Legs looked down, and he was… smirking.

“Tell me what’s going through your head,” Legs said. 

“You know what’s going through my head,” Night snapped, getting up on his elbows, looking up at Legs. “Why don’t you just do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know,” Night said. 

Legs had to know, right?

… right?

Otherwise, Night was making a fool of himself, and he’d fuckin’ die before he did that.

Oh god.

“Tell me,” said Legs, and he was grabbing a handful of Night’s thigh, then just slapping it, hard enough to make Night’s ears ring.

Night bellowed, trying to curl up, but there were Legs hands, keeping him in place. 

“No,” said Night.

“No what?”

“No, I’m not gonna tell you, when you already know.”

This back and forth was… well, back and forthing.

It was getting pretty fucking stupid. 

“Maybe I don’t already know, and I want you to tell me,” said Legs, and he was… settling between Night’s spread legs, and his hands were on the insides of Night’s thighs, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise, and the pain of it was enough to make Night’s eyes roll back in his head, the pain like a cleansing, like a scouring of his soul. 

“You _know_ ,” Night insisted, although he was getting sick of the back and forthing. 

“So I should just do what you seem to think I want?”

“Yes,” said Night, and something like relief passed over him like a wave. 

It was… it was going to hurt, as far as he knew, but he could take it. 

He _wanted_ it. 

He wanted the pain, because he was… he was a bad man, and maybe he should have been guilty about wanting to be fucked, but the fire twisting in his gut was better than the usually twisting guilty that crawled like a worm down his back, tangling in his spine.

His heart was beating very fast.

And Legs was… lifting him up.

Lifting him up by the hips, putting Night’s legs over onto his shoulder, and... god, he was looking at Night’s ass.

Full on just looking at it. 

Oh god.

“I’m gonna do what I wanna do,” Legs said, and he was… using his hands to spread open Night’s ass, and then he was… licking it.

“What the _fuck_ are you… doing, holy fuck….”

Night’s heels dug into Leg’s lower back, and Night’s fingers were tangled in his own hair, because that was Legs’ _tongue_ , and how could this be happening, it was… it was filthy, but it also wasn’t, it was also fucking amazing, oh fuck, it was….

Legs was making wet noises, and Night wondered, faintly, if he did this shit to Sara.

Had Sara’s legs been digging into this same spot, hips rolling up?

God, the image of that, and the sensations already filling him up… fuck….

Night was sobbing, he was shaking, and he was having a lot of trouble even thinking in a straight line, beginning to pant harder.

Something was… building in his gut, building at the very base of his spine, and he was beginning to shake, his thighs hard.

This… this was obscene, but how was it any more obscene than the time he’d broken a guy’s knees with a baseball bat?

Legs was making the same kind of pleased noises (albeit muffled) as when his cock was being sucked, and then he was covering his mouth with one hand, beginning to get even tighter, beginning to arch his back, until he was barely on the bed, and his neck was going to be sore, it was all so fucking….

He came.

Sort of.

It was unlike any other orgasm he’d had before, and it was just… washing over him, as pre-cum washed over his belly, and his cock twitched, but didn’t spit any cum forward.

God. 

Fuck. 

Oh fuck.

And Legs was pulling back, and he was looking at Night, his expression… almost hopeful.

Huh.

“Is that what you wanted?”

“I didn’t know that was a thing you _could_ want,” Night mumbled.

He was still twitching, his whole body, curling his toes and shaking. 

Oh god. 

He still needed to cum.

He still needed… something.

He didn’t know what it was, what he needed, but he needed it. 

He needed it now, he needed it hard, fast.

He needed… he didn’t know.

But fuck.

“Tell me what you want,” said Legs, and he was kissing up Night’s thighs, pressing his face into Night’s belly, making a big point of ignoring Night’s cock, which was _not_ fair, the fucker.

“I want… I want whatever you want to give,” said Night, because he was going to be honest now.

He’d deny it later, but he was still shaking from that strange orgasm still tingling down his nerves. 

“What if I want to fuck you?”

“You wanna fuck me, fuck me,” said Night.

“What do you want is my question,” said Legs, and then his fingers were… sliding into Night’s ass, and that should have been wrong and weird, but it wasn’t, it was… it was new.

It was new, and it was… a bit of a stretch, a bit of a pull, but fuck.

“I want you to fuck me,” Night finally said, and the words should have echoed in his small bedroom, but no.

It was quiet.

It was just Legs’ familiar eyes, looking down at him.

“With my pecker?”

“With your pecker.”

“And you definitely want it?”

“I definitely want it.”

“How?”

Legs’ finger was beginning to move now, and it was… it was a bit painful, but it was still good, it was the kind of good that made Night squirm, and then Legs was pressing down on something, and it was even _better_ , it was better enough that Night didn’t give two fucks about what was happening, didn’t give two fucks about anything, as long as he could have this sweet, tight pleasure run up and down his back.

He spread his legs wider, and he panted up at his ceiling, and he’d take a cock or a pair of fingers or _anything_ in front of the Pope himself or their boss, as long as it didn’t stop. 

There were two fingers inside of him, three fingers, and i twas… oh fuck, it was a tight stretch, it was the kind of stretch that was almost uncomfortable, but his eyes were rolling back into his head, because this was different and Night was nothing, if not a sensation seeker.

This was new, this was… exciting, this was good, this was making tears leak out of his eyes.

Who knew a bit of buggery could do this to a person? 

And then… Legs was looking at him.

Legs was looking at him, eyes wide, almost hopeful, and Legs was… fuck, Legs was leaning forward, and he was kissing Night, which was… honestly kind of gross, because he’d just had his tongue up Night’s asshole, but fuck, it was worth it, because… Legs was still doing _things_ with his fingers.

And then the fingers were withdrawing, and Night paused, still shaking.

“Why’d you stop?”

“If I’m gonna fuck you, I need to have my dick out,” said Legs, and that was true, and then there was… god, there was Legs’ cock, and it was… it was a lot nicer than it had a right to be.

It was a fucking cock, it shouldn’t have been pretty, and yet.

And yet, there was the head of Legs’ cock, and Legs was spitting on it, which… ew, but also, there was the wet head, rubbing against Night’s hole, and then pushing in, carefully.

Night’s legs were still on Legs’ shoulders, and one of Legs’ hands was guiding his cock into Night, and Night was… shuddering, his eyes sliding shut, but then Legs was slapping Night’s thigh.

“No,” Legs said, his voice rough. “No. Keep your eyes open. Eyes on me.”

“Eyes… on… you, fuck,” Night said, and he kept his eyes on Legs’, as Legs… pushed his cock in.

The head slid into him with a sensation that felt like a “pop,” even if it wasn’t an actual “pop,” but… that was a new experience.

More new experiences.

And Legs’ cock was halfway inside of Night, was two thirds of the way in, was all the way inside.

All the way inside, and it was twitching inside of Night, and it was… thick, and it was hot, and it was throbbing, and it was utterly foreign, utterly new.

“God,” Legs said, and his voice broke.

Guilt was twisting up inside of him again, and he was shaking again, looking away, but now there was a hand under his chin, forcing the eye contact.

“You want me to hate you?”

Legs’ voice was rough, and he was sweating through his white shirt.

He was going to need to shower, after this.

They both would.

“You should,” Night said. 

“Why?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Night said, and he arched his back again, forcing Legs deeper inside of him, for the perverse thrill of it. 

Legs’ hand reached out, and it traced the scar on his face.

“Look at you,” Legs said, and his voice was tender.

Night didn’t deserve that kind of tenderness, it wasn’t what he got, that wasn’t what happened to him.

But whenever he tried to look away, Legs just… forced his eyes forward, and then he’d do something twitchy with his hips, move his cock inside of Night, and Night would shudder.

“I’m gonna make you the ultimate martyr,” Legs said, and he moved Night’s legs, so they were just wrapped around his hips. 

“What?”

Legs began to move his hips - began to full on fuck Night, the same way that Night fucked various ladies, driving his hips forward, right into the mattress, and his long, lanky body was draped over Night’s.

His breath wasn’t too pleasant, but his hands were planted on either side of Night’s head, and his forehead was against Night’s, and it was all… stinking of intimacy, the kind of intimacy that made Night’s skin crawl.

There was something almost… nice about the discomfort. 

Some proof that he deserved all of ti, every bit of discomfort that he could. 

His cock was trapped between the two of them, rubbing against Legs’ belly, and Legs was still thrusting, his cock throbbing like a broken tooth inside of Night.

It was so _hot_ \- Night hadn’t realized, how hot another cock could feel inside of him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Legs said, right in Night’s ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m going to make you suffer, I’m going to take away every bit of pain away from me. I’m going to fucking… force you to be happy, if I have to steal you away from this life like a thief in a night.”

And then Night came.

Maybe it was the friction, or the sweaty push and pull of their bodies.

Maybe it was the sensation of fullness. 

Maybe it was the image, or the words, or… who the fuck knew what else it was.

But his cum was hot and wet and sticky between the two of them, slippery with their sweat, and that was disgusting, but it was good too, somehow, it was all good, it was all so fucking… perfect.

Legs came inside of Night.

His thrusting lost rhythm, and then he was just… sheathing himself inside of Night, and he was unloading his cum, wad after wad, and it was… disgusting, it was so disgusting, but it was also perfect, and his face when he came was the most beautiful thing that Night had ever seen.

Then Legs was collapsing on top of Night, chest to chest, and he was speaking right in Night’s ear. 

“I mean it,” he said, his voice very quiet. “I’m gonna do it.”

“Do what?”

Night needed to get up, needed to go to the bathroom, needed to clean up, needed to… figure out whatever the fuck all of this.

But Legs stayed on top of him, nuzzling into his neck, and Night didn’t have the heart to push him off.

Night just… lay there, anchored by the weight of Legs, and he let himself be weighed down by another human being’s body, another human being’s expectation, another human being’s… self. 

He didn’t know what he was going to do, but then again, who did?

He’d figure it out.

Eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com1


End file.
